


Little Light

by Caitric



Category: Destiny (Video Game)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-04-24 12:37:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4919839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caitric/pseuds/Caitric
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You are small, weak. And alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

You know a lot of things, and you're aware of that.  
It's what makes you insufferable to some, why you're respected yet shunned; because you talk and talk and talk until someone puts a bucket over you and leaves you in a corner, waiting for one of the Tower frames to pick it up to bring back to storage.

You blame it on not having a guardian. You don't have anyone to travel with and talk to about all the mysteries you've stumbled upon in your centuries alive. Mysteries you can't solve since you're small, weak. And alone.

You're a Ghost, one like many others. One spark of the Travelers light, you're nothing special to anyone.  
At least not yet. But the Earth is large, and there are many dead. It takes time to find The One.

You watch other Ghosts in the Tower. Huddling close to their guardians, given new shells, chatting and laughing and sometimes whispering into their guardians ear. You watch Ghosts who return alone and you've vowed to never end up like them. When you find your guardian, you won't leave them behind. Not like those dirty, scratched-up things that flicker out on the Speaker's desk.

You think they return to the Traveler to be given a second chance. You hope they are.


	2. Chapter 2

When you finally find your guardian your words leave you. Subconsciously it amuses you how this person, who you had hoped to meet and talk to, leaves you speechless as he rises out of the debris covering him. Tall, and dark. Sparkling blue eyes. Dull steel plating covering his cranial structure.  
It's only when he vocalizes quizzical static that you snap out of it, and even then it's only to lead him to a ship. Get him out of there, whole, and observe as he enters a recharge cycle in the hunk of junk you found. You dematerialize a stick that's embedded itself in his chest cavity. When you're done you huddle up close to him and let the currents running back and forth in his charging system wash over your EM field.  
You wonder if this is what happiness feels like.

Weeks pass by. Years. Your guardian is attentive to everything you say. He laughs with you. Sometimes he clicks at you when you're treading deep conversational water. Once in a while there's an amused burst of static and a shake of the head; ”I thought you liked my backpack. I got it specifically for you.”  
You love your guardian's backpack. You prefer the hood but it's no good when your guardian goes blasting down some trail on Venus.

He's gotten quieter though, towards other guardians. You blame his old fireteam for it. You blame their Ghosts. You blame the Hive and the Vex. If you forgot the names Crota and Atheon right now, it wouldn't be a moment too soon.  
You know your guardian: he acts to keep people at bay- he's tall and dark and quiet and scary and his cloak is in tatters. It's not difficult for him to loom. It's not difficult for him to look menacing. He's an EXO, It comes naturally. His isolation has you talking more, spending more time asking him dumb questions (”should I get a larger chassi?”). You sleep on top of his chest with his hands cupped around you so he won't feel lonely when he cycles down to recharge.

… But he's still approached, by new guardians. By guardians who carry the marks of old battles. By Ghosts that want to know his story. You chase those off before he has a chance to speak. It makes him do this weird sound, half embarrassed, a little flattered. It makes you feel all kinds of funny. You love it.


	3. Chapter 3

Lately, there have been close calls. You're worried. You suspect things. Like that the constant slip-ups are because of lack of sleep. But when you comment on it your guardian snaps at you, and you don't like that so you don't bring it up again. You're small, weak. You're not... physically alone but the feeling is there and you hate it hate it hate it hate it so much.

There have been more deaths, people that your guardian has fought with for a decade, and the crowd in the Tower has thinned considerably. You've spied more hollow-looking ghosts hovering close to the speaker. You've seen what happens when a Ghost dies before their guardian.  
You think this new cold demeanor is to make you back off.  
And you do. You're quiet. You hide out in the far back of the ship both of you found when you took down Valus Ta'aurc. It's neon green. Your guardian named it Little Light. You hate this ship. You hate it with your entire being. You hate its color and size and name and if you could you would crash it into the closest asteroid.  
You hate it because it means distance.

You hate it for not being accessible when you get locked inside the hole Crota dug for himself with a shard full of his soul tucked into your favourite backpack. You hate it when the taken tear holes in your guardian faster than you can heal him. You hate the way he just stares as you're screaming at him to run, to hide, and you call him every bad thing under the Traveler and blame him for all the things you fear.  
You're both quiet when Eris rips you out of the room. You piece him together with your one optic averted from his helm, then transmat both of you into the safety of the Little Light where you make a beeline for the back. You're terrified when he grabs you, but then you're pressed into the soft cables under his chin. His vocalizer is crackling as he says he's sorry. Eris is quiet. Cayde-6 wishes you luck on taking down Oryx before closing the comm.link.  
Your guardian is just holding you, curled up in the front seat of the ship, and doesn't let go until much later to set course towards the Dreadnought. You stay close, resting inside his hood until you feel like you understand reality again.

Oryx goes down in a blaze, while your guardian screams bloody murder. The Vanguard are proud, pleased but watch with a wary eye as your guardian steps away from the table.  
On the way out Shaxx calls your guardian ”Hive Bane”. You joke that it sounds like he says hive bean. Your guardian smiles, and everything is right with the world, again.


	4. Chapter 4

Things escalated.

There's a giant in the shape of a dead King, who punishes with a mighty fist. Your guardian is not alone. The titan in the group is screaming orders. His voice is cracked from commanding. His ghost is dead. You know your guardian left an old friend in one of the corners of the room, her cloak is draped over his shoulders now. You know there are orbs that need channeling, and you know this god can die.  
You know the titan can't leave the bubble of safety within the pillars, you know it when he drops down from the overhead platform to let loose on the knight. You know your guardian wouldn't let him anyway.  
You hate him for it when Oryx hunches over and four of the remaining five dash toward their orbs, you hate him when he screams that his orb won't channel. That he mightn't make it. You hate his feet for slipping and you hate that warm hand and you hate-


	5. Chapter 5

The speaker just fixed your optic. The titan said it cracked when you hit his knee. Said you fractured the bone. Laughed. There were tears though, you saw them. You don't blame him. You don't think you can hate him either, for losing his Ghost. Or the cracked image of a crumpled body that keeps forcing its way to the front of your processor.

You joke that you're happy you didn't hit his crotch, and he starts to weep.

As you settle on the Speaker's desk, you ask him about all those books from before the Golden Age, about if there is such a thing as an afterlife. He replies that he does not know.

You're small. Weak.  
Alone.

But you figure that this is a mystery you can solve on your own.


End file.
